


Turnabout is Fair Play

by nessundorma345 (wastrelwoods)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Character death(s?), Kinda Dark, M/M, implied or off-screen non-con
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:54:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wastrelwoods/pseuds/nessundorma345
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony has never been much of a Royalist, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

He made the tower his command center. His palace. His home sweet home away from home. And there he stays, after the tesseract was given over and his allies  set on Asgard. He does not follow them, because the bargain has been made, and the price has been paid, and honey you should see him in a crown.

It's impressive, Tony has to concede, kneeling in the center of what used to be the penthouse with a Chitauri spear pressed to the nape of his neck. His living room is unrecognizable, almost--decked out with various trophies of war, all Pepper's careful furniture selections razed. A small Monet hangs in the back corner, though, as a second stinging reminder of what else he has lost. How the woman who picked the painting, picked most of the demolished furniture, hung that painting; how she was in the end nothing more than another casualty of war, someone in the wrong place at the wrong time. The surfacing memory of her strawberry-blonde hair stained red with her own blood makes Tony snarl, face still pressed to the ground. 

Loki smiles wide and razor-sharp when he is brought in, leaning forward in his makeshift--golden, where did that come from?--throne and steepling his fingers in true Bond villain fashion. He gives Tony a calculating once-over, and frowns, displeased. "Why did you chain him?"

The foot soldiers exchange a look of confusion, and Loki sighs, sprawling over the throne again with an air of resigned annoyance. "Is that any way to treat a guest? Remove his bonds, now." He smiles apologetically as the guards scramble to undo the chafing cuffs, and Tony glares sullenly. "I'm sorry, where are my manners, Stark? Welcome, welcome."

He stands, sauntering over to the bar, which Tony hadn't noticed was still standing, really. Unstoppering a glass decanter of brandy, he turns again to face his prisoner. "I believe," he pours the liquor in a smooth, steady stream, bouncing off the crystal glass like a fiery waterfall, "That you still owe me a drink." Loki nods politely, toasting to himself probably, and tips the glass back. The sculptured muscles of his neck contract in a way that diverts Tony's attention entirely. His pale hand turns the crystal over, considering, then his grip loosens and a shower of glass explodes against the floor. Loki laughs.

Tony growls against the gag, low in his throat. The god looks up, mock-surprised. "Oops," he says. The tips of his booted feet move closer until they are inches from his prisoner's face. Loki leans in. "Did you want one, too?" he questions, then splashes the remaining contents of the decanter full in his face. Tony splutters, muffled abuse spilling past the gag. 

"After all I've done for you? I'm beginning to reconsider the generous offer I had for you, Stark." His pale blue eyes shine in Tony's face. He looks up, incredulous, and Loki smiles wider than ever. He straightens, sauntering back towards the throne.

He barks an order in a harsh and alien tongue, and a foot soldier darts forward with the spear in his hands. It hums hungrily when reunited with its master, the blue glow intensifying. "Leave us!" Loki motions to the door. 

The pressure against his neck gone, Tony stands slowly, wobbling ever so slightly. The villain still towers over him, all sharp edges and plates of armor and the heady scent of leather and blood. The bruises beneath his eyes highlight the unnatural tesseract-blue glow. He raises the spear to hover an inch from his throat, and growls, "Now. Kneel."

His eyes are blocks of ice, reflecting the eerie blue light. "Never."

The razor-sharp tip meets with his collarbone in a single swift motion, and he feels his heart shudder in the wake of the impact. Ice rushes through Tony's veins, burning like the brandy that still stings his eyes. His vision blacks out, and then abruptly returns, sharper and cooler and clearer. 

Loki smiles wide, and Tony sinks to his knees. 


	2. Chapter 2

The king's throne is truly magnificent. It's the king himself who leaves Steve feeling less than impressed. He towers over everything while slouched comfortably against the high, curved back of the seat as though he knows he doesn't belong there, and dares any soul to try and displace him. His smile is wide and dangerous, something like a shark and something like a tiger, all sharp edges and blood and fire. Steve nods his head ever so slightly because he came for information, after all, and not bowing in the presence of the king isn't exactly conducive to making a good impression. Or something like that, anyway.

Loki's eyes flash green with amusement. "The noble Captain. The first Avenger. And the last, I do believe."

Steve grits his teeth at the images his mind supplies; Bruce imprisoned, Natasha broken, Clint with eyes drowned in blue, Thor with his arm outstretched in a desperate search for something to save him from the abyss, Tony--

Well. One way or another, he was right. And almost nothing is worse than when a liar tells the truth. Steve swallows the sick feeling in his gut, staring up at the conqueror. "You've given me a hell of a lot to avenge," he spits. 

Loki laughs a little at that, his dark and menacing laugh that makes Steve clench his fists tighter at his sides. "Do you like my throne? I took it from the golden halls of Valhalla itself." It is intricately woven with the branches of a tree and the story of ten thousand years, and on it sits a man who is more monster than king, his dark hair an explosion beneath the vicious curved horns of his helmet. Leather and gold wrap around him in a complex web of armor, leaving flashes, hints of emerald that reflect the madness in his eyes. "It did take so long to clean the bloodstains out, and yet," his smile grows impossibly wider, "I think the intimidation factor is well worth such inconveniences, don't you?"

Steve really does consider telling him exactly where to stick his inconveniences, but thinks better of it. Still, he can't entirely conceal the low growl that escapes his lips. "I came for an--"

"I know what you came for, Captain. Information. Revenge, too, most likely. Dull." He slouches further down in the cushions almost petulantly. "The ones who surrender are always so terribly boring. It's the fighters who fascinate me. Like this one. So troublesome," he murmurs, and for the first time Steve notices the figure at the foot of the throne. It--he, it seems--is small and ragged, seemingly fixated on a small glowing cube, which he turns over and over in his hands. His hands are unbound, but his whole body is a mass of bruises and scars. Steve feels the bile rise in his throat at the sight. Loki runs a long-fingered hand through the prisoner's unkempt hair. "And yet so loyal, once broken. My little pet wolf."

Steve screws his eyes shut tight, sucking in a long, shuddering breath, and then exhaling. He gags ever so slightly, even so. He opens his eyes to see the hunched figure staring at him with a familiar intensity, bruise-rimmed eyes more empty than he has ever seen before. "...Steve?" 

"Tony," he chokes out. 

Because it is Tony, there's no mistaking that. Steve would recognize his face anywhere. It's just the shock, the memory rising, again, of his body going limp like a rag doll as the Chitauri spear was pulled out with a sickening pop, Steve screaming his name from the deck of the Quinjet, losing sight of him as they banked sharply, leaving him behind. Dead. Only not quite.

Loki purrs out another laugh. "I wish you could see your face. I really do." His grip on Tony's hair tightens, and he lets out a little noise of displeasure. Loki drinks it in like a vampire would blood, like Tony's cries are what gives him strength.

Steve shudders with horror and shock and disgust. "But...you killed him! I watched him die!" Steve shouting for him to get moving, Tony staying behind to confront the crazy god, laying down on the wire. The gleam in Loki's eyes as he thrust the blade clear through Tony's armored back, too late, too late, too late again.

Loki raises an eyebrow. "As I said, a fighter." He releases Tony's hair with a whispered command, and Tony narrows his dead eyes. Loki takes his chin in a firm grip, lifting him almost off the ground, and he assents. Steve watches him straighten, nothing beside the tall throne and its occupant, but something still unbroken in the line of his shoulders. Tony stands, and in that moment Steve can see two things; the arc reactor above his heart, roiling with an angry green glow, and just below that a thick scar, jagged and just as angry, where the blade pierced him. "I made it a sort of experiment, you see. How much does it take to break Anthony Stark?" 

Tony's eyes have a dull blue sheen to them, one that pushes Steve past responding. Frozen. 

"Quite a bit, in fact. I must admit I was impressed. He rest of your kind are sheep, and he is a wolf, unbowing and loyal." Loki snaps his fingers, and Tony folds in on himself, curling back against the throne at his feet. "But even a wolf can be tamed."

He leans in, wrapping Tony's jaw in his lean fingers and taking his mouth in a bruising, punishing kiss. Loki drinks in the small noises he makes, half protest and half inconsolable need. He pulls away, leaving Tony panting, blood trickling from a corner of his mouth. Steve sees red, he moves forward to protect his friend, cursing indistinctly at the trickster king. There is a flash of pain, and his arms are held behind his back by three Chitauri guards. 

Loki stands over him, his eyes palest blue. Steve wants to spit in his face, but feels a sudden jolt of fear because what if he hurts Tony? He resigns himself to a low growl of, "Let him go."

His mad smile is gone, and if anything it only makes him more terrifying. "And why in the nine realms would I want to do that, Captain?" He leans forward until his hypnotizing eyes are but inches from Steve's face. "He needs me, don't you, Stark?"

Tony seems jolted from some fantasy world, his glazed brown eyes unfocused. Blood still pools over his lower lip, which he licks away absentmindedly. He pulls up his shirt to show the reactor again, and this time the crack down the center of the device is clearly visible. "Yeah," his voice, so familiar, sounds like it's miles away. "He's keeping me alive," Tony states simply, giggling a little like it's the funniest thing in the goddamn world.

Steve's eyes widen. Loki just grins in confirmation, sauntering back over to the throne and sinking into it, one thin-boned hand reaching for Tony's hair again. "Ten feet, Captain. If my little wolf wanders farther from my side then that, well...." he just shrugs, eyes narrowing ominously.

Steve is silent for a long while, staring blankly into eyes drowned in blue. Dead eyes. Another breath rattles in his lungs. 

He remembers that day, the last day, with the sun high in the smoke-stained sky and the cloying smell of death all around. He remembers the sweet rush of adrenaline through his veins, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, beating a firm tattoo of alivealivealiveandfighting. He remembers the silence that fell when he appeared at last in all his dark glory, and how the sun had grown cold in his wake. 

"Tony!" he screamed, and he remembers this the best, "We have to leave!" because the tattoo of his heart was beating dangerdangerkeephimsafe. What happened next was a blur of blood and smoke and the dim knowledge that try as they might, they could not leave. And Tony, Steve remembers seeing him grow pale, freeze because he was always three steps ahead in the equation and he'd just found x. 

"I have to go back. I have to face him."

"No. No, stay where you are-"

"Cap, listen to me, I have to."

"We can figure this out, we can...there has to be another way!"

"There isn't."

Labored breathing punctuated the silence. Steve closed his eyes, he remembers, because of the smoke and the silence and the way that every heartbeat sounded like goodbye. "You're all I have left, you know."

He sees Tony silhouetted against the bloodred sky, broken and brave, turning to quirk a final smile. "Then I guess you'll have to avenge me."

thumpthumppain thumppain thumpthumpmakeitstop

"You think you've broken him." He rises to his feet, staring deep into Loki's venomous eyes. The darkness creeps from the corners of the room threateningly, and the shadows lengthen. 

"No, he was already broken," the king says, low and dangerous. "I think I've shattered him. Completely and irreversibly."

"You're wrong," he spits. Righteous anger blazes in the pit of his stomach. "It's like you said. Tony, he's a fighter. And he will never stop fighting you. Not now. Not ever. You have his mind. You've taken his heart and squeezed the life from it. But you could live a thousand lifetimes and never have his soul."

The world goes white-hot with pain, and Steve, he grits his teeth and smiles. Agony. Beyond the haze is Tony, slumped against the throne like a marionette with his strings cut. Steve tastes copper, but he knows that deep inside there is a Phoenix ready to rise from the ashes and take Loki down in flames, and he does not taste defeat.


End file.
